Disclaimer: Law and Order: Criminal Intent and its characters are the property of Dick Wolf, NBC/Universal, and the actors who portray them. I may be envious, but I'm only borrowing them for this semi-short story.
A. NOTE: Hey! Wow! It's me! Another chapter…I can't believe it. Saying that I'm useless and very sorry for the inordinately long wait would be a moot point. You all already know that. So let me just send some shout-outs to some people who've continued to aid in the little-known agency of "Finding Lost Muses".
Piaffe417 for the wonderful compliments. (You are really awesome, you know that!) Whose two new CI stories, especially "Truisms", brought me back to a fandom I love. Brilliant work Piaffe, really!
Trés Mechenté: for her continued support of my CI works, emailing me every now and then for updates and asking "Hey, what's up with "EoN?" Check it out! Another chapter. No… I haven't heard of any snowing in Hell… but you never know with the weather. (grin)
Cyclone2: for bringing a smile to my face by wishing that a half-ton Steinway would fall on my head, so that I could have some "down time" in the hospital to finish this story! (Thanks for giving in to temptation Tracy, and reading this)
TriStateCopFan: You rock, as always. And might I say, haven't you been the busy little beaver with the writing! Way to go!
Katica Locke: Whose absolutely phenomenal CI story, "Release" lit the fire under my muse's butt and stoked my imagination with her inventive plot and emotive story telling. You really are very talented, and I love your CI story! Many Thanks!
--Author Note#2: You may want to re-read Chapters 2-3 again. I've gone back and changed some things, and added in some little tid-bits you may want to check out. They'll help with the case…along the way. (wink) Rated for Adult Situations and Language. USE your OWN Judgment.--
"The Energy of Nothing" by Alamo Girl ©
Part 4 "Attraction of the Opposition"
"It is my belief that sanity lies in realizing that reality is not exactly what we had in mind." Roy Blount
"No work of love will flourish out of guilt, fear, or hollowness of heart…just as no valid plans for the future can be made by those who have no capacity for living now." Alan Watts
There seemed to be a thin line separating "fear" and "attraction". At least, that's the way it has always seemed to Alex Eames. The attraction she'd felt toward the boys in high school, the ones marked as "trouble makers" or "bad news"—were always the ones that (even though she'd try to deny it to herself) had managed to raise her blood pressure a full point or two. Not that she'd ever given in to the temptation before, relying instead on her ingrained sense of right and wrong, her maturity, and the fact that with a pack of brothers and a former cop father waiting at home—she didn't really want to tempt the gauntlet with a "bad-boy" boyfriend. When she had become a cop, Alex noticed the roles reversed somewhat. Men were either attracted to her authority and her handcuffs—one tough little cookie who could put a guy on the ground and have him handcuffed in any number of ways in a matter of seconds -or they were intimidated by her prowess as a detective, afraid she'd be "too much" woman for them. It was an interesting mix, something some practicing field psychologist might want to study.
"Alex Eames-Good Cops aroused by Bad Boys." It sounded like either the title of a psychology thesis paper, ora paper-back novel with Harlequin stamped discreetly on the spine somwhere—Alex couldn't decide which.
And at the moment, none of those thoughts seemed relevant except the fear and attraction element. For here she was, pinned up against a wall by a hulking, menacing shadow—who smelled intoxicatingly like old Scotch malt and musky cologne. A shadow, whose massive frame was pressed against her length so that the heat from his heaving chest was permeating her jacket, making her cheeks flush bright red—a little trickle of sweat forming at her brow. This menacing shadow—whose face she could barely make out in the dark apartment, whose hand had worked the zipper of her sweater all the way down and was now roaming roughly over her breasts—was a man she'd thought to be her partner.
Her partner, Bobby Goren. Shy, sometimes overly animated or quirky in his actions—sometimes quiet and withdrawn as he works out the kinks in a case until all of the ends match up and that little spark in his eye flashes, telling her the connection has been made. The Bobby Goren who was the very definition of "gentleman", from holding doors and chairs—to flashing that perfect white, disarming smile to make even the dodgiest female suspects feel at ease.
This Bobby Goren was now working her sweater over her shoulders, one hand fighting with the button on her jeans. Alex's head was trying to wrap its self around all these facts clamoring for attention, while one completely unwanted yet not entirely unexpected feeling was continuing to build upon itself, like a match flame that had been ignited upon first seeing Bobby in that club. Attraction.
She swallowed, summoning "Alexandra" back into action. "Bobby…you don't know what you're doing! It's the alcohol and the stress, that's what's doing this."
She discontinued her failing attempts at stopping Bobby's ever-multiplying hands from working parts of her clothing off—planted both hands firmly in the center of his chest and pushed. Hard.
Bobby hadn't expected such a hard push, and though she was no match for his weight and sheer size, it did manage to knock him back and off of her a few inches. Immediately his body ached with the deprival of her warmth, her soft skin under his lips. Her breath was coming in quick heaves, and he smiled inwardly as he remembered how her body reacted to his touch—sending out waves of aroused pheromones and trembling beneath his deft finger tips.
"Oh Alex, I think we both know it's not just the few drinks that brought this on," Bobby said in a low tone, trying to make out her features.
He knew she was probably glaring, putting up a façade of being incensed by his actions. But he knew what she was really feeling, his keen perception may be dulled, but not absent.
Why is she fighting this?
"And, I know of some ways to relieve that… stress, Alexandra," her full name rolled off his tongue like molasses and arsenic. "You came here to take care of me didn't you? Your…burden to bear, right? Always the "mother hen", worrying about poor unstable Bobby."
The last part dripped with acid. Anger and frustration—everything Bobby usually kept under lock and key was now barreling out of Pandora's Box.
Alex shuttered involuntarily, and not from arousal. "Partners watch out for each other, you damn-well know that! And I never said you were-…"
"Unstable? Crazy? Unpredictable… Manic?" Bobby leaned back in slow and deliberately, his forehead on hers now, and closed his eyes as anguish reentered his voice. "That's what the Brass will probably be saying word-for-word to Deakins and Carver. Not to mention I.A. They've been waiting for this to happen, and now…now, I've finally lived up to all the rumors floating around One P.P."
Alex's heart sank into her abdomen. Is this what Bobby really thinks is being said behind his back? She opened her mouth to speak, but words died on her lips as she looked up into Bobby's pain-ridden face.
He chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, I know what's been said. Most think I'm some kind of profiling genius…the Rosetta Stone of all things…intuitive…and one step away from becoming a psycho-neurotic crack-pot! The rest think I've already pole-vaulted over that line—that maybe my mother's curse has already visited upon the son."
His hand on the back of Alex's neck tightened, as though keeping her in contact with him, painfully if need be, was his only life line.
To Bobby, it was the literal truth.
"That's not true Bobby, and you know it. You are the most gifted man I've ever met, with an insight that most will never understand." Her voice tightened, from a pain inside she could neither place, nor hope to describe.
He opened his eyes, staring hard into hers, his voice becoming almost child-like, "But you do, don't you Alex?"
"Yeah, I guess I do." She smiled slightly, though the pressure of his thick hand on the back of her neck seemed to be getting stronger. "Now c'mon, let me get some coffee and food into you."
She tried to move, but his hand became a vice on her neck, pinching. Alex winced. She thought she was getting through—getting a glimpse of her partner back.
She'd said she understood him, and to Bobby it was music to his soul. She was "his" Alex…his partner and touch-stone—the one who would always understand him. But he was still sensing that she was resisting him, like she didn't want to admit that this "thing" (or whatever it was) that had been brewing between them the past couple of years wasn't just a "partnership". Not like any simple friendship or working relationship—No, Bobby was sure of that. This was something much deeper. His emotions were raw and frayed.
He needed more. He deserved more, damnit! Alex should understand that too! Her proximity was intoxicating to his already hampered state, and her skin, the feel of her curves pressed under his muscular bulk was like throwing gasoline on a forest fire. Slowly, the hand that had been behind Eames' neck, holding her in place, swiveled around to the front of her throat. Bobby knew just how much pressure to use—enough to keep her still, and feel her pulse racing under his hot skin. But not enough to hurt her.
Alex sucked in a sharp breath. Bobby's head bent down to her collar bone again, running his lips gingerly over her tense skin – tasting, relishing. The sensations his lips enticed from the nerves under her skin were electric—hot and wet, causing her breathing to become shallow, a flush was running rapidly from her chest up to her cheeks. As Bobby's eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see now what his actions were causing—and it only made him want more. He let his hand that had worked the zipper front of her sweater down, slide over her bra, tingling as his finger tips soaked up the trembling heat and swell of her curves.
Bobby was finally feeling again. Alex fit so perfectly beneath him, against him…and for the first time in God-knows-when…Bobby felt passion again. But this wasn't the same passion he'd felt bubble deep inside, as the thrill of catching a killer came to a climax, when he'd nail them to the wall with their own words in the interrogations. Or the same passion that caused him to become a police officer in the first place—wanting justice for victims of crimes.
This primal passion hadn't stirred in Bobby in a long time, and now it had become a drug. And his thirst for it seemed parched, insatiable.
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Alex's head was fogged. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost control of this situation. She'd come with the best of intentions to help her flailing partner away from the cliff's edge, away from his Hell and back to her. She'd intended to get him home, safe and sound—clean him up and to watch over him through this trial by fire. She figured everything would work out.
What was the road to Hell paved in, again?
Bobby's lower body was preventing her legs from moving; the sheer pressure of his bulk was almost compressing the air from her lungs. But it was the hand around her throat that made the fog of pleasure his expert hands and lips were causing—freeze to ice. Alex squirmed again, trying to find some leverage between herself and Bobby, at least enough to put some air between them.
His hand on her throat tightened—just a margin.
Alex's eyes widened. Most people don't like to be backed into a corner against their will, nor encompassed by another body until all routes of escape are cut off and the smothering tension steals the oxygen from the air. Alex had been pinned against a wall before—in work and in play—but when there is a hand around the throat, real fear sets in.
She'd seen enough young woman on the ME's slab, throats crushed by some man's hands. She knew what a vulnerable spot it was—just a little squeeze and the larynx folds in like an accordion. The Hyoid bone snaps, and the windpipe crushes inward, shutting off the air. And for the first time, real, nauseous fear bubbled up within her that Bobby might squeeze just that much.
Alex's hands stopped fumbling with trying to keep Bobby's hands at bay, and found a place against his enormous chest. He was breathing harder, kissing her chest and breasts, his hands working harder against her skin. Alex arched her back somewhat, to give some leverage, and pushed hard against her partner's chest once again.
"Bobby…knock it off!" She managed to get most of the sentence out, only semi-garbled.
A growl rumbled up out of Goren's chest, frustrated that this little whiff of a woman was still resisting him. And it was also a pained sound, as though she were ripping something vitally important away from him. Bobby's weight shifted backward a little, though Alex knew it was only because he decided to move. Her push hadn't moved him an inch. He brought both hands to her face, dwarfing it in his thick palms.
"God Alex. Why are you fighting it?" Goren's voice was hushed but intense.
His nose touched hers, his eyes searching for something. Alex didn't know what.
"Bobby," she said slowly, "we're partners. Friends. You know we can't do…" Alex faltered as one hand left her face, to snake around her lower back and press her torso and hips hard against his. Frighteningly hard.
Alex hissed through her teeth, "This!"
"Do what, Alex?" Bobby's voice dropped an octave as his arousal went up another notch or two. "Do what? What we've always wanted? C'mon Alex. You know…you've wanted to just as much as me."
He ran his tongue over her jaw line. "All that's been standing in…in the way was the job. And, well…" he paused for effect, locking eyes with her again, "that's pretty-much over now, isn't it."
He wasn't asking. Bobby was stating a fact -that he'd given up. He'd given in, and was now going to reap the benefits their partnership—as fulfilling as it had been—had denied them for the past years.
"Damnit Goren," she spat, "nothing is over! I'm trying to help you, here!"
But Alex could help the little twinge somewhere in the recess of her brain—where she kept her desires locked away—that Bobby was right. Some part of her must have wanted this too. Perhaps, even needed it.
The force of that thought gave Alex enough pause, that she momentarily let her defenses waver. And Goren, as perceptive as always when it came to body language, felt it. He took the open opportunity and crushed her mouth against his in a bruising kiss. Alex's eyes went wide for a second, her body bucked as iron arms engulfed her, moving her toward the couch.
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Then, as if the moment were to stretch into oblivion, a small voice in Alex's head murmured to her through the fog.
Why are you fighting this, Alex darling? It's not like you haven't thought about it before—sitting there across from this man, day after day. Watching his brilliant mind work, reveling in those shy, private smiles he affords you.
Her body slowly began to relax, giving in to the kiss and eliciting another sub-sonic rumble of passion from Goren.
The way he sees into you when you lock eyes, not in an invasion, but as an assurance to himself that you are with him, on the same page. You've seen how even at a crime scene, interviewing witnesses, he can make a brown, leather jacket and a casual sweater—seem alluring.
She was dimly aware that her back had come in contact with the soft, oversized cushions of Goren's couch—that her sweater was completely open, hot breath and soft lips caressing pale skin. His weight shifted as he let his hands roam southward, deftly working her jeans down…
The voice purred, And when he turns on that irresistible side—the side that allows him to get so close to a woman, even while he's breaking down their denials during a case, it's down-right intimate. The way he was with Nelda, in the end. You felt the waves of heat, radiating from him—as he tore down her armor, exposing her vulnerabilities to the world, and just how much loneliness can affect a soul.
He was gentle, tender…all of that Goren-essence was focused directly on her—and you'd have given anything to be Nelda at that moment. To feel Bobby focus all that intensity on you—your knees turn to rubber and your blood boils. And to have him 'mean' it—because your connection with him is unlike any you've ever had with another human, and for once, you wanted Bobby Goren to look at you with all the passion and lo-
Alex gasped inwardly as the realization hit her with all the subtleness of a cinder block. Bobby had let his guard down that day, he'd let Alex have a little peek into the Bobby Goren-away-from-work. Sure, he had his hobbies—the occasional date that never went past a couple of dinners, and ended with a "I had a great time..." and no hard feelings. But away from the job, when there were no leads to follow, no clues to connect—Bobby's demons would crawl back in. The Loneliness—thick and overwhelming, like a quagmire that engulfed the more he struggled—would win out the night, making the following work day a welcome relief.
Pain stabbed through Alex's gut. This is what Bobby had to look forward to with his badge gone. He'd drown… like Nelda. She'd killed in an attempt to bring her one ray of light back into her life—to stem the soul-sucking loneliness. How far would Goren go?
That thought jolted Alex back into the present, as she felt his hardness press down on her abdomen. She sucked in another sharp breath, his pants were already opened and his tongue was lathing her stomach. This is what he's doing! Her partner had already fallen off that plateau into the ravine…and he was going to take her with him. He'd given up hope in himself, since he knew there would be no 'niche' for him. His place, his defining purpose had been taken—and now he was going to lash out at the loneliness with his last weapon. His partner, his Eames—with no thought to the consequences that tomorrow would bring.
But Alex knew. She knew what this would do to their partnership, not to mention their friendship. Deep down, some part of her may have wanted to close that gap of intimacy between her and Bobby…but not this way!
"Stop it." Alex's voice had never trembled in the presence of her partner (and certainly never because of him) but it did this time. She shifted to try to get a knee under him, before he had her underwear completely down.
"That's not what your body is saying," he purred in her ear, as one hand found its way down her underwear. "No…definitely not a "stop" I'm getting from you."
Alex felt a lump lodge its self in her throat. He wouldn't. Even with the booze…he just…wouldn't…
"Goren," Alex tried to harden her voice as she struggled. "Stop this now. I don't want this…and I know you don't really want it – to go...this way."
"You're wrong…you don't know how long I've…wanted…" Bobby brought his face level with hers as his hand dove deeper—his fingers deep into her softness.
Alex gasped, bucked and yelped before she could think, "NO! This isn't you! PLEASE, Bobby, don't do this to us! Please!"
Goren froze, the sound of her anguish reverberated through his war-weary body and soul. He braced himself above her, as every molecule of passion or lust evaporated, leaving him aching in ways that had nothing to do with physical pain.
Alex saw those brown eyes, locked with hers—melting into shame and self-hatred. She hadn't felt the tears that ran paths down her cheeks—but Bobby saw them. Each one wrought a chasm of pain through his heart.
He did this. He almost…
Bobby shook, as his hand lightly grazed Alex's face—as if to remind himself this wasn't a dream. Alex had never seen such pain, or felt the realization crashing in on him, like waves on a shore—and her fear ebbed into worry. For him.
"Alex…oh God," Bobby breathed. He moved off of her, pushing himself back to the far corner of the couch. His fists came up to his face.
"What have I…" he stuttered, "I'm sorry…Christ, I'm so sorry. I almost…I-I al-most…"
"Bobby?" Alex collected herself, her clothes back together, but stayed on her side of the couch.
He was muttering to himself now, his face turned away – one fist at his lips in his normally thoughtful pose, the other arm wrapped around himself.
"I almost…to her…should've known. Almost lost…"
It was all coming in bits and jagged pieces to Eames, but she knew she'd never seen Goren in this much distress. For good reason, too. If he hadn't stopped…Alex swallowed the lump that had risen again in her throat.
"Bobby, it's okay. I know that wasn't…" she faltered as Goren swung his head slowly to her, his eyes half-lidded and cast down. He wasn't going to look at her, probably wouldn't for a long time.
"That wasn't you, Goren. You know better than anyone what alcohol and stress can do to a person. You can't blame yourself like this, Bobby…I – I let it get out of hand too." She tilted her head to catch his eyes, but Goren rose from the couch in one frighteningly graceful movement, and stood facing his immense bookshelf.
For a moment, Bobby stood still—something that was very unsettling to Alex, as Goren's usually restless nature had become a comfort to her over the years.
Softly, he said, "Seven women dead. Now…a cop…dead."
Alex stared at that broad back.
"Three months of work, and that bastard kills two people – right in front of me." His head turned slightly to the side, "He nearly killed you…"
"Bobby…" she started, but Goren's voice cut her off.
"No Alex! He nearly killed you! All of this happened because I…I screwed up!" His voice strained with fatigue and soul-gutting pain. "This all happened on my watch, it was…my case! And now…now I almost…"
Alex felt another tear trickle down her face as she watched the man she most cared about, a once bright, beautiful soul—lean his back against the wall, and slide down its length in utter defeat to the floor.
He drew in a ragged, deep breath – one arm slung over a knee as he sat braced against the wall, a broken man. "To you. Of all the people…the one person I would never – hurt…could never hurt."
Alex slowly stood. She'd heard something she'd never thought she'd hear come from her partner – a sob. She wiped at the tears coming down her cheeks, Bobby needed her to be strong…not break down into a blubbering mass. But as she made her way to him, cautiously, Goren suddenly jerked his head up, halting her in her tracks.
"Just go, Alex. Leave…please." His eyes, welled with tears, floated over her features for a moment. Then, he gestured aimlessly with one hand, toward the door.
"You can't save me… all the time," he muttered, his head down again.
Alex nodded slightly, swallowed her tears and adjusted her sweater, and made her way to his door.
Just before she exited, Bobby admitted in a low voice, "You shouldn't keep trying to save me, y'know. I don't think I'm worth it."
Alex paused in the open doorway, lifted her chin but didn't look back and answered softly, "Well, I think you are."
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"The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness." Vladimir Nabokov
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TBC…Please READ and REVIEW! Reviews feed the Author's soul! You give your precious time to read this work, let me know what YOU think?
Sorry, that one got long, angsty and pretty dark. Brief mention of "Semi-Detached" in there. I'm going to start on the next chapter this week if I can, so let me know how I'm doing. Sorry again for the long wait, guys. Real-Life sucks sometimes.